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The sixth Bocas NGC Literary Festival enters its ninth day and windup weekend today, with the main attraction, 2015 Man Booker Prizewinner Marlon James, taking the Old Fire Station stage tomorrow at 2pm to talk about his magnificent novel, A Brief History of Seven Killings, and post-Prize life. Tomorrow’s a big day, from 10am, with sitting Chief Justice Ivor Archie sitting down with marijuana activist Nazma Muller,Read more
The Guggenheim Museum in New York will soon exhibit what might be the work of art of our, and all, time: an 18-carat solid gold toilet – not just an “installation” in the sense of an artistic work in a gallery, but also an actual installation: the functional golden toilet will be plumbed into the museum’s sewerage system and visitors will not just look at, but sit on it: people will be able to say they literally shat all over a work of art at the Guggenheim. Read more
The Book of Kenrick Part XXIII
In 2011, God the Uncle – my imaginary Uncle Godfrey –called me to sum up the Bible in the voice of Kenrick, the kind of tess who goes backstage at the Tobago Jazz Experience to get David Rudder’s autograph and borrows a pen from Farmer Nappy and a piece of paper from Benjai.
Last day, Joseph, who had become Pharaoh’s right hand corn man, had tricked the brothers who sold him into slavery to ransom their brother Simeon with their youngest brother, Benjamin, and had thrown big fete in Egypt for his little brother. Their father, Jacob, had been reluctant to use Benjamin to bail out Simeon, fearing loss of yet another son. (Daughters don’t matter in the Old Testatment, except for begetting.)Read more
TWO YEARS ago, end of the third school term, I found myself arbitrarily relating to my own children my father’s strongest memory of World War II: at his secondary school, any time they heard the drone of a heavy aircraft, all pens, including the teacher’s, stopped in the air above exercise book pages and then went flying, as everyone rushed outside, those on the ground floor spilling out the windows: why waste time on corridors when there might be Spitfires and B-52s in the skies of British Guiana?
But why had that story jumped out of my mouth?
Feel the pulse and vibration and the rumbling force/ Somebody is out there beating on a dead horse/ She never said nothing, there was nothing she wrote/ She’d gone with the man in the long black coat – Bob Dylan
- ON SUNDAY – or Monday, if you use the calendar date to mark the anniversary, but, in either case, at 5.05pm – it will be 23 years ago my father died, the same day (and a couple hours short of the same time, to the minute) as Martin Luther King: my father would have been as pleased as a person could be about dying if he knew he checked out on the 25th anniversary of the death of one of his own heroes (4th April, 1968, 6.05pm, US Central Time).